


Sleeping Partners

by tastewithouttalent



Category: DOUBLE DECKER! ダグ&キリル | Double Decker! Doug & Kirill (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Derick Ross/Valery Vrubel - Freeform, Drunken Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation in Shower, No Plot/Plotless, Partners to Lovers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-30 18:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21432430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Doug thinks a night out with an increasingly tipsy Kirill would be worth however much it costs to get him there." Kirill and Doug fall into a new dynamic.
Relationships: Doug Billingham/Kirill Vrubel
Comments: 32
Kudos: 382





	1. Venture

Doug has to all but carry Kirill out to the car, in the end.

He had expected to get the other drunk. Doug’s a detective, not a saint, and he’s had too much experience with the pink flush of his partner’s intoxication to resist the opportunity when it presents itself. Doug is happy to cover Kirill’s first round of drinks, and his second, and however many more he wants to have; Doug figures they both deserve some celebration after their recent triumph, and he’s glad to enable Kirill in indulging in whatever he wants by way of reward. Doug has every intention of charging the expenses back as a company cost, after all, and even if he fails to argue that case he thinks a night out with an increasingly tipsy Kirill would be worth however much it costs to get him there.

They’re among the first to leave. Derick’s bar was crowded with everyone crushed into the space, and even Yuri and Max’s early departure had hardly allowed for breathing room for the rest of them. Doug didn’t mind; he appreciated the excuse to have Kirill crushed against him in the booth they claimed upon entering, and as the night wore on and Kirill’s upright position listed him closer towards Doug’s shoulder Doug felt more and more justified in his choices. By the time Deanna’s inebriation was bearing her towards the inevitable and ill-advised possibility of karaoke, Doug had Kirill’s elbow slanting heavy at his shoulder and Kirill’s head pillowed atop it, and he thinks there’s nothing else he could ask for to make the night better than it already is.

“I don’t need you to take me home,” Kirill informs Doug now, as Doug steers them both into a stumbling zig-zag across the street to where his car is pulled up along the curb. Doug is sober enough to pretend convincingly at a steady pace; it’s Kirill who is pulling him off-balance, even with Doug’s arm banded tight around the other’s waist to brace him upright. Kirill’s arm is draping around Doug’s neck as well, an extra weight serving more to pull Doug sideways than to keep Kirill on his feet, it seems, until Doug is beginning to wonder if he might not be better served by simply picking Kirill up bodily and carrying him to the car. Kirill’s arm shifts around his neck, seeking out support for himself for the span of a few stumbling steps before he loses track of what he’s trying for and slumps back into Doug’s hold. “I can--I can just stay with Valery for the night.”

“You can,” Doug says, keeping his focus on the car so he can guide their steps more-or-less in that direction as well. “And Derick wouldn’t speak to me for a week. I’d rather stay on the good side of the man who mixes my drinks.”

“Huh?” Kirill swings his head to the side to frown at Doug. Doug keeps his eyes on where they are heading instead of looking to see the crease of confusion between Kirill’s brows and softening at the curve of his lips. “Why would  _ Derick _ care if I stay here?”

“Because,” Doug says, and lifts his hand so he can click the button to open the driver-side door. “You would be staying in Valery’s room.”

Kirill considers this for a moment. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he concludes at last, with the careful enunciation of someone who has double- and triple-checked the logic of their intoxicated mind. “It’s Valery’s room. It’s not like Derick--” and he stumbles over his own thought, coupling his mental realization with the complete collapse of his balance so Doug is left holding him upright entirely. “_Ah!_”

“You got it,” Doug says, and drags Kirill bodily over the last step to the open car door. “Good work.”

“You mean--” Kirill says. “Are they... _ tonight_?” He gets his feet under himself as Doug steers them both towards the back seat, although this provides very little real assistance. “Oh my  _ god!_”

“It’s not that shocking.” Doug lifts his free hand so he can give Kirill another point of contact as he stuffs the other into the back seat of his car. “They’re adults. They’re dating.”

“Yeah but,” Kirill blurts. “But Valery’s my  _ sibling_. I don’t want to think about... _ that!_”

“And that’s why I’m taking you home,” Doug says calmly. “Get in the car.”

Kirill grumbles something incoherent and reaches out to grip at the top edge of the car. It’s only as he gets one knee carefully braced at the edge of the seat that he seems to realize what he’s looking at and pauses to frown intensely. “This is the  _ back _ seat.”

Doug considers the basic accuracy of this. “It is.”

Kirill shakes his head. “I don’t want to be in the back seat,” he says, and turns back to frown at Doug. “I want to ride in the front with you.”

“You’re drunk,” Doug says to Kirill’s heavy-lidded eyes and pouting mouth. “I want you out of the way where you won’t get into trouble while I’m driving.”

“I won’t get into trouble!” Kirill protests. “I’m your partner, I should be with you!”

“You will be,” Doug says. “In the back.”

Kirill shakes his head hard so his hair swings around and tangles in front of his face. “I want to be in the front,” he insists. “Take me to the other side.”

“You can ride in the front if you can get yourself there,” Doug tells him. He straightens from where he’s been leaning towards the back seat and loosens his hold so he can let his arms fall heavy to his sides. “Be my guest.”

Kirill frowns. “Fine,” he says. “I will.” He tightens his hold around Doug’s neck, pulling hard in an effort to get his balance back over his feet; a successful attempt, although ultimately useless due to his inability to keep said balance where he wants it. Doug stands still at the side of the car while Kirill wobbles in front of him, teetering dangerously whenever he tries to loosen his bracing grip. Finally Kirill huffs exasperation and shoves at Doug’s shoulder entirely to push him away and claim his balance for himself. Doug falls back by a step, clearing room for Kirill to walk around the car and to his demanded position, and Kirill lifts his chin and sniffs haughty self-assurance. He turns to take a step, carrying himself with regal grace; and then his foot misses the curb, and he’s collapsing sideways into a heap. It’s only Doug reaching out to catch him that saves him from falling, and even then it’s a pyrrhic victory, as Kirill’s momentum drags them both to fall into the back seat of the car. Kirill yelps as he goes down, clutching desperately at the front of Doug’s jacket to stop his fall; Doug just throws a hand out to soften the impact of them landing one atop each other over the width of the back seat.

Kirill’s shoulders hit the seat as Doug catches himself with a knee at the edge. For a moment it’s hard to tell how they’ve landed, in the rush of their fall and the haze of Doug’s own general inebriation; then Doug makes sense of the hand fisted at his jacket, and the leg looped around his own, and the head tipped in to press almost to the front of his chest. When he looks down Kirill has his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth twisted on a grimace; he has both hands closed tight on the lapels of Doug’s jacket, where the other is leaning in over where he has fallen across the seat. His cheeks are flushed, his teeth caught hard at the soft of his lower lip, and for a minute Doug stays right where he is, braced over Kirill across the back seat of his car and watching the other tense for a fall that has already happened.

It takes a moment for Kirill to ease some of the expectant strain in his features, and another after that before he cracks one eye open to risk looking around him. He lifts his head up as he blinks into focus on Doug, his mouth softening with recognition as he does. His hair looks darker in the shadows in the car until it almost matches the color of his eyes as his gaze comes into focus on the figure leaning over him. “Doug?”

Doug looks down at Kirill lying beneath him, his hair tousled over the seat, his cheeks flushed to a pink only surpassed by the red curve of his lips; and he leans down, and he presses his mouth against the soft surrender of Kirill’s.

Kirill gives way immediately to Doug kissing him. His lashes flutter shut as Doug is still ducking in, volunteering capitulation while his gaze is still soft with surprise, and his mouth answers Doug’s as quickly as the contact is given. Kirill’s chin lifts at once, his head tilting up in response to the heat of Doug’s mouth against his, and when Doug shifts his weight to free a hand to cradle the back of Kirill’s head and tilt him up for more Kirill arches up in instant, perfect obedience to the urging. His hands pull at Doug’s jacket in what Doug thinks is an attempt to draw him in closer but Doug is already pressing for more, sliding his tongue against Kirill’s lips to demand access to the heat of the other’s mouth. Kirill gives him that too, offering himself as quickly as he grasps what Doug is seeking, and in reply Doug draws his hand down to grip at the back of Kirill’s neck and hold the other steady as he hitches them farther into the car. Kirill yelps at the motion, a soft sound of surprise in the back of his throat that Doug immediately swallows back into heat in his own, but when he moves it’s only to loop his arm back around Doug’s shoulders to hold them together as Doug maneuvers them farther into the interior. Kirill’s hand comes up from Doug’s jacket to fit around the back of the other’s neck, Doug settles his thumb to brace just in front of Kirill’s ear to hold the other steady, and when he resumes kissing it is with far more control over his balance and far more intention to remain as they are for as long as feasibly possible.

He certainly succeeds in the second. Doug’s sense of time is somewhat hazy, thanks to the third of the drinks Derick poured into the glass in front of him while they were still inside the bar, but he can make some estimates based on the rasp that is working itself under Kirill’s breathing whenever Doug grants him a moment free from the friction of his mouth and the press of his lips, can guess at minutes passing as Kirill’s fingers find their way to clutch at his hair and the other’s knee inches higher up Doug’s thigh. By the time Doug finally draws away to brace his elbow at the seat and reach down to pull Kirill’s leg up around his hip outright Kirill is panting for breath and quivering with rising heat enough to arch his back as he tries to urge himself closer with the leverage of Doug’s grip under his thigh. Doug lets him make the attempt, awkward and unbalanced though it is, partially because he appreciates the whine of desperation in Kirill’s throat that comes with it and partially because Kirill struggling to get closer to him lets him slide his hand up the underside of Kirill’s leg to grip against the seat of the other’s jeans.

“Doug,” Kirill manages, his voice skidding high in his throat as his fingers drag through Doug’s hair in an attempt to urge the other back down against his mouth. “Don’t go, please, come back, stay.”

Doug catches a breath and does his best to compose his expression into something like a frown instead of the bone-deep heat that has gripped him. “Kirill…” He shakes his head and averts his eyes. “We shouldn’t.”

“No,” Kirill gasps, sounding panicked enough to suit the tension that tightens his leg around Doug’s hip and his fingers in Doug’s hair. “_No_,  _ please _ Doug.”

“We’re work partners,” Doug tells him. “It would be inappropriate for me to…” He shakes his head in a show of professional reticence. “...with you.” Kirill groans and Doug ducks his head to hide the laughter starting at his mouth as he sighs a show of regret. “We really ought to stop things right here before they go any farther than they already have.”

Kirill drops his head back against the car seat and whimpers an exhale. “_Doug_.”

“Yes,” Doug says, looking through his lashes at the curve of Kirill’s pale throat bared by the frustrated surrender of his position. “We might have already made out in the back seat of my car.” He tightens his fingers to squeeze at the grip he has on Kirill’s ass. “I may have gotten distracted by some groping.” He leans forward to fit himself over Kirill beneath him so he can breathe out over the V of skin left bare by the loose neckline of the other’s shirt. “It’s possible that I’ve left a line of hickies halfway down your chest.” He presses his lips to Kirill’s bare skin to suck the dark of a rising bruise into the pale space just below the other’s collarbone. “Maybe we’ve been grinding until we’re both a lot more turned on than we realized.” He rocks his hips forward to pin Kirill between the angle of his body and the hold he has against the other’s ass. He doesn’t need the strangled inhale Kirill takes to prove the arousal that jolts the other’s hips up to buck sharply against his own.

“Maybe that’s all true,” Doug says against Kirill’s chest. He lifts his free hand to catch at the bottom edge of the neckline of Kirill’s shirt so he can tug it down farther and kiss another bruise into the other’s skin. “Maybe you’re going to spend the next week jerking off to the thought of me.” He lifts his head from Kirill’s chest so he can look down at the flushed cheeks and parted lips of his partner sprawled beneath him before he lets Kirill’s shirt go and sets his fingers against the other’s chin to hold his focus steady.

“Even so,” Doug says. “There’s  _ no _ reason I should take you back to my apartment and lay you out over my bedsheets and fuck you until you can’t remember any name but the one you’re screaming.”

The image flickers visible distraction into Kirill’s vision. Doug can see his eyes go out-of-focus, can see his jaw soften and his lips part on a voiceless exhale of stunned arousal as Kirill is briefly knocked entirely free from the present by the immersive detail of imagination. Doug waits until Kirill catches himself back enough to blink in the first startled attempt to return to reality, and then he ducks back in to kiss against Kirill’s soft mouth and strip away what coherency might have been struggling to reform.

“You see,” Doug says, speaking low and without pulling away so the words come warm against Kirill’s mouth, “Of course I  _ can’t _ do that.”

“You  _ can_,” Kirill pleads, his protest only slightly interrupted by the slow, lingering kiss Doug takes from him while Kirill tries to lock both arms around his neck. “Please Doug,  _ please _ take home with you.”

“Mm,” Doug hums, and kisses against the edge of Kirill’s jaw. “Back to my apartment?”

Kirill arches underneath him, his fingers tighten into Doug’s hair. “Yes.”

Doug slides his fingers up from the back of Kirill’s neck to wind into the other’s hair. “To take all your clothes off?”

Doug can feel the vibration of the groan in Kirill’s chest. “_Yes_.”

“Hmm.” Doug braces his knee against the car seat to gain traction for himself. “And then…” He bucks his hips forward, sketching out the conclusion to his sentence with more evocative clarity than words could manage.

Kirill shudders physically where Doug has him pinned down against the car seat. “_Oh_,” he moans. “_Yes_.”

“Huh,” Doug says, and lets his hold on Kirill go all at once so he can push to sit up over his knees. “Alright then.”

Doug moves too quickly for Kirill’s intoxicated reflexes to keep up. Kirill is left with both arms extended into the air over him, his hands reaching out into empty space for a moment before he realizes what has happened and struggles to push himself up from the seat so he can stare at the other. “What?”

“I said alright,” Doug says. “My apartment’s a few minutes’ drive away. Try not to fall asleep before we get there.”

Kirill blinks as Doug retreats back out of the open door of the car so he can claim his position in the driver’s seat instead. “What?” he says again. “Where?”

“My apartment,” Doug says. He glances back to make sure Kirill’s feet are well clear before he pulls the car door shut on the two of them. “I’ll take us right there.” He pauses and turns, bracing an elbow over the back of the seat so he can look back into the shadows where Kirill is sitting, flushed and disheveled and confused. “Unless you want to go home after all.”

Kirill blinks and comes back into himself enough to shake his head roughly. “No!” he exclaims, and reaches out to clutch desperation at Doug’s sleeve. “I want to…” He stutters to a stop, flushing dark enough that Doug can see it even in the shadows of the car. “...Come with you.”

“I can manage that,” Doug says in his most neutral tone. “Probably a couple of times before you go home, even.” Kirill’s forehead creases on tipsy confusion at this and Doug reaches up to grip Kirill’s wrist and loosen the other’s hold on his sleeve. “Sit down and put your seatbelt on. We’ll be there before you know it.” Kirill falls back to sprawl over the back seat, warm and loose-limbed with intoxication, and Doug turns his attention to the process of getting himself settled and the car started.

“Ready?” Doug asks, glancing at the rearview mirror to see Kirill gazing dreamily at him. He’s not looking into the mirror; apparently he’s content to just sit in the middle of the back seat, his head tipped to the side and his whole expression soft with unselfconscious affection as he looks at Doug sitting in front of him. He probably doesn’t realize Doug can see him, in their present position; certainly he’s not thinking about how clearly his feeling are laying themselves across his face. Doug watches him for a moment, looking at the dark weight of Kirill’s lashes, the soft possibility at his lips, the flushed heat of desire warm over his cheeks; and then he looks away to turn his attention to the road as he puts the car in gear with force. “Here we go.”

Kirill gasps in spite of the warning as the car accelerates off the curb and out into the quiet dark of the late-night streets. Doug admits -- silently, to himself -- that he might be leaning a little harder on the gas pedal than he usually does, or than strict safety might suggest under the circumstances. But Kirill’s in the back seat, warm and pliant and gazing at Doug like he’s never wanted anything more in all the world, and Doug is too impatient to give him everything he wants to be anything other than a little bit reckless.


	2. Invest

Doug has some trouble getting the door of his apartment open. This is something he is used to dealing with; the lock tends to stick, and on bad nights the deadbolt won’t turn over unless he grabs at the knob and pulls it towards himself while he’s wrestling with the key. He’s gotten good enough at it that he can manage the maneuver even when he’s gotten drunk enough to think that walking home from Derick’s bar is a better idea than calling a taxi; in his current state, he should be able to manage it with hardly a pause.

Of course, that accounts only for his intoxication, without taking into account his partner’s. Kirill spent the drive back to Doug’s apartment sprawled over the back seat, head tipped back against the support behind him and working his lower lip with his teeth in a way that Doug could look at perhaps twice before the necessity of retaining at least some bloodflow to his brain required him to focus on the road in front of him. By the time they get to Doug’s apartment complex Doug is beginning to seriously question the necessity of getting Kirill upstairs at all and wondering if maybe he wouldn’t have been better off shutting the car door for the minimal privacy a hurried handjob at the curb outside the bar would require. But Kirill is stumbling out of the car as soon as Doug opens the door, unsteady on his feet but ready with his hands, and with Kirill’s arm around his neck and breathing warm at his collar Doug reins in the urge for immediate satisfaction with the promise of more soon to come and shuts the car door so he can begin the process of coaxing Kirill up the stairs.

It’s not as if Kirill needs much persuading. He’s more than willing, happy to follow the lead of Doug’s steps and clinging so close to the other that every motion Doug takes verges them towards public indecency even with all their clothes on. But he’s off-balance on his own, and unwilling to loosen his hold on Doug enough to regain any of his stability, so the process of getting upstairs is more that of a series of barely-averted collapses than something with any grace or structure. Doug wonders if he might not be better off picking Kirill up entirely in his arms or over his shoulder, just to bear him across the distance to where they are headed; but it’s not that far, after all, and the end finds Doug standing in front of his door, working to get the lock open while Kirill winds both arms around his neck and does his best to melt against whatever of Doug he can reach.

“Is this it?” Kirill is asking, his head braced at Doug’s shoulder while one of his hands drags up through the other’s hair. “Are we there?”

“We’re here,” Doug says. “I just need to get the door open.”

Kirill shudders a breath. “I can’t believe this,” he says, in a tone soft enough that Doug suspects it to be intended for Kirill’s hearing instead of his own. “We’re really--you’re really serious?”

Doug drags at the door handle so he can push hard against the key. “Yep.”

“With me?” Kirill asks. “_You _ want  _ me_? Seriously?”

“As soon as I get this door open I’ll show you how serious I am,” Doug tells him, and it’s then that the deadbolt finally surrenders and turns over under his grip. Doug pushes the door open without bothering with pulling the key from the lock, and when Kirill turns to stare at the sudden motion Doug is turning towards him in turn. He sets one hand at Kirill’s waist, and reaches down with the other to pull Kirill in against him as he lifts the other right off his unsteady feet. Kirill yelps, clutching at Doug’s jacket as Doug slides him up over his shoulder, and Doug turns to stride through the door of his apartment, only pausing to pull the key free of the lock and drop it to the floor before he kicks the door shut behind him. He flicks the light on, and turns the sticky lock back over, and then he turns his back on the door so he can cut a straight-line path through the living room and into the shadows of the waiting bedroom.

Kirill doesn’t try to catch himself when Doug leans in to dump him over the bed, or at least not with enough efficacy for Doug to take any notice of the attempt. There’s a grab at the back of Doug’s jacket, and an exclamation of general disorientation as he falls, but by the time Kirill has found voice to offer any real protest he’s already on the bed and Doug is turning back to turn on the light overhead. Kirill flinches at the sudden illumination, lifting an arm to shadow his face as he turns in against the sheets underneath him, and Doug pauses to stand at the foot of the bed and look down at him. Kirill is wearing all the same clothes he was at the bar, which an hour earlier Doug would have described as entirely reasonable for public view; but his jacket is pushed up around his shoulders, and the dark shirt that usually covers his chest has inched up from his hips to rumple around his waist and bare a good handspan of pale skin over his left hip. His pants are still on, as are his boots, but his knees are tipped open from where Doug dropped him onto the bed, and his position is such that Doug’s attention is drawn very immediately to how tightly those same pants fit the slender length of Kirill’s legs. Kirill whimpers from the bed, his hand lifting to rumple his fingers through his hair as his flushed face emerges into the light of the room, and Doug lifts a hand to drag his tie loose before he shrugs his jacket to drop to the floor and comes in to brace a knee at the bed between Kirill’s open legs.

Kirill responds immediately to Doug’s approach. His arms lift, his hands reach out to reclaim their hold around Doug’s neck, and Doug leans in to cover the soft heat of Kirill’s parted lips with the self-assurance of his own. Kirill moans into his mouth, reaching up to loop one of his arms around Doug’s shoulders and attempting something similar with his leg, but Doug has more lofty goals than letting Kirill tangle them together again. He’s working with intent, pushing at the buttons of Kirill’s pants with one hand at the same time he thoroughly investigates the heat of Kirill’s mouth open and desperate for his own, and when he has the fastenings loose he doesn’t hesitate in pulling back in spite of the fist Kirill has found of his hair or the whine of protest in the other’s throat. Doug has an immediate goal, one vital enough to override even the kiss-soft temptation of Kirill’s lips, and he pursues it immediately in leaning back so he can reach for Kirill’s knee and angle the other’s leg up. He gets both the other’s boots off first, dragging them free and dropping them to the floor, and it’s somewhere in the midst of him pulling the waistband of Kirill’s pants off his hips that Kirill catches up to his intentions.

“_Oh_,” Kirill blurts, and pushes to sit up from the bed right as Doug is about to get his pants free. Doug gives him a flat look that Kirill utterly misses by virtue of being trapped in his clothes as he tries to get his jacket and shirt free at the same time. Doug watches him struggle for a moment, amused in spite of himself, before he looks back down and tightens his hold on Kirill’s waistband so he can drag the other’s pants off his legs by force. The motion tips Kirill back over the bed at the same time it strips him down to his briefs, and Doug draws back to stand at the edge of the bed while he unbuttons the collar and cuffs of his shirt so he can push the loose sleeves up around his elbows. Kirill frees himself after a moment, emerging from jacket and shirt with a gasp of victory; it’s only once he’s cast them over the edge of the bed that he seems to realize how little else he’s wearing. He looks down at himself, his cheeks flushing towards what might be the start of embarrassment, and Doug leans in immediately to demand the focus of Kirill’s attention for himself instead. Kirill’s head comes up, his lashes dip into instinctive surrender, and when Doug braces a hand at Kirill’s hip to tip him back over the bed Kirill falls with far more elegance than what he managed in his first descent.

Doug doesn’t draw away, this time. Kirill lifts an arm to wind around his shoulders, and turns his head in expectation of a kiss, but when Doug ducks down it’s to kiss at Kirill’s jawline, and then along the line of his neck, as Kirill moans and tips his head to the side in surrender. Kirill’s legs angle open as if they’re issuing an invitation, and Doug is ready to lean forward and onto the bed over Kirill beneath him. He still has the majority of his clothes on, even with his tie freed and his shirtsleeves rolled up, but he doesn’t pull away to strip them off, just steadies his hand at Kirill’s hip to hold the other down to the bed as he lays the print of his mouth down Kirill’s shoulder, across his chest and over the fluttering tension at his stomach.

By the time Doug’s mouth has drawn past Kirill’s navel to venture into the inch of pale skin just over the waistband of his briefs, Kirill has fumbled both his hands into a desperate grip at Doug’s hair and is pulling against them with a kind of vague energy that Doug is hard-pressed to identify as either enthusiasm or protest. Doug pauses at the lowest point of Kirill’s currently-bare stomach and lifts his head to look up to the other’s face, hoping to get some insight into his partner’s status beyond the immediate physical encouragement clearly outlined by the dark fabric of his underwear.

Kirill is still lying back across Doug’s bed. He could have pushed himself to upright, Doug thinks, if he had the presence of mind to do so in the last handful of minutes Doug has spent exploring the pale skin that he saw so much of in their first meeting and so tragically little of since, but he’s too tipsy or too breathless-hot to have managed anything other than tangling his hands into Doug’s hair and turning his head to watch the other work down his body. His own hair is rumpled around his head, ruffled out of any order sometime during the interlude in the back of Doug’s car, or the carrying through the apartment, or struggling free of his shirt and jacket, but Kirill doesn’t appear at all self-conscious about the halo of silvered violet around his head. His attention is all for Doug leaning over him, judging from the angle of his lashes and the white of his teeth catching idly against his lower lip; when Doug looks up to meet his gaze Kirill’s knee slides out over the bed by an inch, as if instinct is urging him to make more of an overt offering than what he has already provided.

Doug had intended to tease him. Kirill is always an easy mark, even more than Derick ever was; Doug’s personal appreciation of the way embarrassment flushes over Kirill’s cheeks only adds to his already-significant enjoyment of having his deadpan sarcasm be taken for absolute sincerity. But as Doug looks up to see Kirill gazing at him with dark-shadowed heat behind his eyes and catching at his lip, his usual tendency towards teasing is entirely eclipsed by the immediate, pressing need to satisfy long months’ worth of fantasy-fueled curiosity about how exactly Kirill looks gasping and trembling with heat over Doug’s bed. Doug looks at Kirill, one hand bracing at the other’s hip and the other holding himself up over the mattress; and then he turns his head down, and loosens his grip, and slides his fingers inside Kirill’s briefs so he can pull the elastic free of the other’s hips.

Kirill hisses over an inhale as Doug draws his clothing off him, his fingers tighten into fists in the other’s hair, but he doesn’t voice any word of protest, and when his legs work it is to arch his hips up in a gesture too overtly wanting for Doug to have any hesitation in taking it for the incoherent encouragement it is. Doug sets his elbow against the soft of the mattress beneath them, steadying himself at the same time he reaches to span Kirill’s chest with the bracing weight of his arm, before he leaves Kirill’s briefs to tangle around the other’s thighs so he can wrap his fingers to a grip around the base of Kirill’s flushed cock before dipping down to take the soft-swollen head past his lips and in against the slide of his tongue.

It’s a good thing Doug has his arm pressing down over Kirill’s chest. Kirill arches up with the first weight of Doug’s fingers, and gasps over a moan at the friction of the other’s lips; but Doug was expecting the motion, and the flex of his arm catches to pin Kirill back down to the soft of his mattress. One of Kirill’s hands comes loose from Doug’s hair and up to wrap his arm tight atop the other’s, like he’s trying to hold himself still; the other slides farther back, wandering through Doug’s hair into the sketch of a caress made desperate by the tension against his thighs. Doug rocks himself farther forward, tilting his weight into the arm pinning Kirill’s chest down and angling his other elbow wide to brace atop the other’s thigh, and it’s only once he has the other’s reflexive motion fully contained that he steadies his grip and turns the full of his attention to his self-declared mission to suck Kirill’s dick.

Kirill is incredibly responsive. Doug determined that as a certainty long ago, back in the first few weeks of their partnership, when a late night at the bar and a flushed-tipsy partner had brought vivid, immersive clarity to the details of his idle imagination. Kirill is exuberant and expressive in any situation and at the least opportunity; it’s only reasonable that he should be as ready and vocal in his enthusiasm in Doug’s bed as well. But it’s one thing to imagine the details of his response, to fit the bright of Kirill’s smile and the glowing excitement of his personality to the structure of Doug’s favorite fantasies; the reality of Kirill trembling beneath him, of Kirill whimpering in his bed, is heady enough to throb arousal that Doug can feel aching inside his pants even with his hips tipped up and away from the glancing friction the mattress might offer beneath him. Doug hadn’t thought about the way Kirill’s fingers would feel clutching at his hair, or clinging to his arm as if Doug is the only thing keeping him present in the world; he hadn’t expected the way Kirill’s voice skids and cracks over the pitch of pleasure rising to peak in his throat as it curves at his back and trembles in his thighs. Kirill’s breath catches under the weight of Doug’s arm, his foot arches to press his toes against the soft of Doug’s bed, and Doug is sure that this moment is going to feature in every one of his fantasies for months to come.

Doug doesn’t pull away. There is a temptation in him to do so, to draw Kirill’s rising pleasure so long and trembling-taut that he’s ready to come for a touch, for a word, for a breath; but the fact of drawing back from the heat of Kirill’s cock against his lips is more than he can stand, and when Kirill hisses an inhale gone telltale with desperation Doug just presses harder against his bracing arm and tightens his lips around the shaft of the other’s cock. Kirill’s fingers dig into his hair, Doug drags his tongue up over the head of Kirill’s cock, and he feels the rush of orgasm jolt through Kirill’s body where Doug is pinning him down to the bed. Kirill’s hips tilt to the side, rocking through instinctive motion in spite of his held-down position, and Doug closes his mouth around the other’s length and sucks hard against him to pull the gasp of relief in Kirill’s throat quaking and plaintive with sensation. Kirill’s leg jerks under Doug’s hold, his shoulders curl forward as he moans over want, and Doug keeps coaxing sensation from him until Kirill has fallen heavy and slack with heat over the bed, with just the tremor in his fingers pressing into Doug’s hair and against his wrist to speak to his present state. Doug swallows the heat filling his mouth, runs his tongue up over Kirill once more just to be sure he’s claimed the last of it; and then he finally lifts his hand from Kirill’s thigh to his hip, and presses to fix the other still as he draws back.

He’s right to do so. Kirill shudders as Doug pulls away from him, his fingers clutching into the other’s hair like he’s trying to keep Doug’s lips pressing warmth against his skin, but there’s no real strength in his hold, and Doug is able to rock back to kneel at the end of the bed without any interruption to the motion. Kirill’s hand falls loose as Doug slides away from the other’s hold, dropping to lie palm-up over the bed next to him, and Doug settles himself over his knees and takes stock of the present situation.

Kirill is sprawling over his bed, his knees angled wide around Doug between them. One hand has fallen over his bare chest, where the pale skin is flushed pink with the heat of the pleasure Doug has just urged into him; the other is up over his head, his fingers caught in the tangle of his hair spread out over the other’s sheets. Kirill’s cheeks are flushed, his mouth is red, his gaze is heavy and drowsy with pleasure. He looks entirely spent, as if Doug has just drawn all the strength from his body with the work of his lips and the grip of his fingers, and Doug thinks that after months of considering Kirill’s relative fuckability at any given moment this is the peak of anything he has ever observed.

The only problem is the amount of clothing Doug still has on himself, namely everything except for his jacket and tie. Doug looks down to take stock of his present circumstances before sighing and moving to slide back off the bed and to his feet. He tugs his shirt loose of his pants and begins unfastening the buttons down the front, and on the sheets Kirill blinks and stirs enough to turn his focus up to Doug before him.

“Doug?” He lifts his hand from his stomach to reach out towards the other. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Doug says, and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders so he can toss it aside. “Stay right there, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Mm,” Kirill hums, and drops his hand again. “Okay.” He catches himself in a yawn, which he only makes a token attempt at covering behind his hand before turning over onto his side as he fumbles with the effort to get his briefs back up around his hips. Doug considers pointing out the futility of this, given his own very immediate intentions for taking them right back off again, but the effort comes with a wiggle of Kirill’s hips that he’s too busy appreciating to stop before this bare modicum of decency has been reinstated. Kirill turns over on the bed, pressing his face down into the blankets as he mumbles some soft noise of incoherence, and Doug leaves him to drowsy comfort while he slips his shoes off and works himself free of his slacks and undershirt. 

With his clothes off all that’s left is to get the lube and condoms from where he’s stored them. A short search proves this to be under the bathroom sink, which is a strange choice given where he’s most likely to want them but not one Doug is in the mood to worry about at the moment. He has a mostly-naked and entirely-sated Kirill lounging over the sheets of his bed, after all, and his immediate interest is in finding some satisfaction of his own, hopefully through a means that will let him indulge Kirill doubly as well.

When Doug emerges from the bathroom, Kirill is snoring. He’s turned himself completely over on the bed to lie on his stomach over the sheets, and whatever flush of lingering pleasure is still clinging to his cheeks has been turned to the purpose of drawing him the faster into sleep. He doesn’t look up as Doug comes back into the room, doesn’t show any sign at all of stirring, and Doug is left to stand in the doorway of the bedroom while he runs a quick check of his priorities. The hard-on he’s been sustaining for the last half-hour makes a persuasive argument in favor of waking Kirill up and continuing with exactly the plan Doug formed in the back seat of the car while they were outside Derick’s bar; but Kirill is sprawled into obvious comfort, and even Doug’s constant amusement at ruffling the other doesn’t extend to pulling him back from what are clearly blissful dreams, however certain Doug may be that he could make the following period just as blissful, albeit in a different way. Finally it is amusement that gets the better of him, and the pleasure to look forward to of using this as fodder for teasing for weeks to come, and when Doug comes forward it’s only to set down his supplies at the table next to the bed before he returns to the bathroom and what satisfaction he can find for himself under the spray of the shower and the drag of his hand.

He comes hard, with the recollection of Kirill shaking under him to guide his fantasies; Doug’s fairly sure his groan is loud enough to echo off the inside of the bathroom, and wonders distantly if Kirill stirs in the other room. If he does he’s fallen back into dreams by the time Doug emerges, somewhat damper and significantly more spent than he was when he left, and Kirill doesn’t shift at all as Doug paces around the apartment to turn off the lights before returning to the bedroom where Kirill is tangled over his sheets. Kirill stirs as Doug climbs onto the far side of the mattress, shifting to turn over in his sleep and fumble out across the bed in pursuit of something his hazy attention insists it needs. Doug doesn’t know what it is, if Kirill is stretching for some invention of his dreams or just reaching for a pillow; but the grip of his hand steadying around the other’s wrist appears to be enough to soothe him, and when Doug draws Kirill in against his chest Kirill fits himself within the span of the other’s arm without hesitation. His head tucks beneath Doug’s chin, his breathing sighs warmth over Doug’s chest; when Doug looks down he can see the start of a smile against Kirill’s lips, as if he’s finally claimed whatever it was he was reaching for before. Doug looks at him for a minute, appreciating the sight as much as the feel of Kirill cuddling against him, and then he drapes his arm around Kirill’s back, and pulls the other in against him, and lets himself follow Kirill into the comfort of satisfied dreams.


	3. Payoff

Kirill wakes up horny.

It’s not just that he’s hard. He usually wakes up with something of an erection, whether he bothers to do anything about it or not; the fact that his first conscious awareness of his body focuses on the throb of his dick straining against his underwear is more or less normal, as far as such things go. But his physical arousal is a secondary concern, an inevitable result of the heat that has been spilling over into the details of Kirill’s dreams for what feels like the last few hours of sleep; his drowsy mind is full of possibilities, of heavy-eyed flirtation and unspoken understanding and a dull, aching expectation for a culmination that Kirill can feel himself reaching for even as the structure of the dream wrapping it fades and dissolves from his mind. Kirill whimpers at the loss, shifting in closer against the warmth of his blankets in an effort to return to unconsciousness long enough to find the satisfaction promised by his imagination; and then the weight over him shifts, moving with far more intention than his blankets ever manage, and in the first shock of recognition Kirill is opening his eyes to blink himself into consciousness before he can think the better of it.

He is caught in the loop of a bare arm, held close against a chest layered with lean muscle enough to feel like a wall from how close he is. There are blankets around him, tangled somewhere over his legs and around his hips, but the greater part of the heat radiant in his body is from the arm wrapped around him and the body pressing close against his own. There’s the smell of cologne in the air, rich and faintly spicy in a way that seems tantalizingly familiar, and over Kirill’s head there’s the sound of someone breathing slow and steady. Kirill shifts against the bed under him, breathing deep in an effort to follow the thread of recognition that is coming with the suggestion of that cologne, and it’s as his hips shift angle that he realizes two things. One, that he  _ does _ know that smell, namely because it belongs to his partner Doug Billingham; and two, that Doug is exactly as hard as Kirill is, and that the layers of underwear between them are doing nothing whatsoever to disguise that fact.

Kirill hesitates for a moment, caught to stillness by the surprise of this double realization breaking over him. But there’s no shock that follows in the wake of his recognition; rather, his memory steps forward to volunteer quite a bit more, once he’s determined where he is. Kirill can remember turning in against the warmth of Doug next to him, somewhere in the hazy drowse into which he fell after Doug left him sprawling over his bed; which was only after a thorough application of Doug’s mouth to Kirill’s cock, which thought alone is enough to shudder heat down the length of Kirill’s spine. He remembers drinking at Derick’s bar, and stumbling out to the curb with his arm around Doug’s shoulders, and falling into the backseat with Doug leaning in over him; and Kirill whimpers at the memory of Doug’s mouth pressing to his own, his throat giving voice to the same approval that tilts his hips forward into attempted motion made somewhat useless by his present position. Kirill’s legs are wound in the sheets around him, his movement too unthinking to achieve any real friction, but as he moves the arm around him slides down, a hand spreads wide to brace at the curve of his back, and over his head the steady inhales give way to a gusty sigh. “You’re awake, then?”

“Ah,” Kirill gasps. “Doug.” He tightens his arm -- which seems to have wound its way around Doug’s neck over the course of the night -- and lifts his chin to find Doug gazing down at him, his mouth set and eyes dark as he watches Kirill press against him. Kirill’s breath catches, his cheeks color. “Um. Good morning.”

Doug lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he says. “Sleep well?”

Kirill nods. It’s a strangely neutral conversation to be having while pressed close against someone’s bare chest and with their hips close enough that...Kirill’s flush darkens. “I did,” he manages. “Really well.” He tips his head to consider the unfamiliar surroundings. “Which is surprising, actually, I usually need to be in my own bed to sleep for more than a couple hours.”

“Mm,” Doug hums. “Yeah, you were out like a light as soon as I left you alone for a minute.”

“Ah,” Kirill says. “That...must have been the alcohol.”

“Maybe,” Doug says. His hand slides down Kirill’s back, smoothing along the curve of the other’s spine. For a moment Kirill has a thrill of electricity run through him, wondering if Doug is going to let his touch slide over the edge of decency; then Doug drops his palm by inches, and Kirill loses all his breath in a rush as fingers close to squeeze hard against his ass. “Or maybe it was me sucking your dick until you passed out.”

Kirill whimpers. Doug’s fingers are digging in against him, the pressure definitely enough to merit a protest, but Kirill’s hand is tightening against the back of the other’s neck, and his hips would be bucking forward against the outline of Doug’s erection if Doug weren’t already pulling Kirill in to fit their hips flush together. “I didn’t pass out.”

“You don’t think so?” Doug asks. “I left you here for maybe five minutes while I went to get lube and you were snoring when I got back.” His hips tilt forward; Kirill can feel the shaft of Doug’s erection sliding against his own through their underwear. “So much for my plan to work through some of our sexual tension.”

Kirill’s hips are tipping forward, following the instinct of thrusting against the resistance of Doug’s body against him. It’s a motion made easier by the urging of Doug’s hand, which is still bracing Kirill close against him even as Kirill himself struggles to get traction with his arm around the other’s shoulders. “Sexual tension?”

“Oh yeah,” Doug says. “It’s been overwhelming since we were assigned together. You’ve been desperate for me since we met.” Kirill might protest this at another time, in another context, but with Doug’s hand gripping at his ass to hold him steady for the grinding friction of the other’s cock against his, he can’t think of any argumentative approach that isn’t obviously and immediately false. “And I’ve been spending all my free time undressing you with my eyes. Not that you left much to the imagination in our first interaction.”

Kirill’s face flushes immediately hot. “I was...I was providing a distraction!”

“Yeah,” Doug says. “For me.” His voice is tense, straining around what Kirill suspects to be amusement, but Kirill can’t stand to lift his head to actually see the laughter in Doug’s face. He ducks his head forward instead to press his forehead against Doug’s chest, and then Doug rocks his hips again and Kirill finds his embarrassment eclipsed by the rush of heat that gasps at his breathing and flexes his arm tighter around the other’s neck.

“I thought I’d let you sleep, yesterday,” Doug says. “You seemed like you were more interested in my bed than in me.” His knee shifts to press between Kirill’s and Kirill finds his legs tipping open, giving way to instinctive surrender as Doug leans forward to push him back over the sheets and into the shadow of the other’s shoulders. Doug’s elbow braces over Kirill’s shoulder, his head ducks down; when he speaks his words are low and dark where he’s offering them against the curve of Kirill’s ear. “Do you feel a little more rested this morning?”

Kirill groans and rocks up against the bed beneath him to struggle against Doug’s thigh riding up between his own. “_Doug_.”

“If you’re tired I don’t want to intrude on your beauty sleep,” Doug says in a perfectly flat and perfectly insincere tone. “But if you’re up for a little exercise--” as he slides his knee up higher to weight against the heat of Kirill’s cock. “--I’d like to work through some of that tension we’ve built up.”

“_Yes_,” Kirill blurts, without any of the deliberate composure that Doug has been layering under his own words. He’s never been very good at playing it cool anyway, and right now there doesn’t seem to be much point, not when Doug can feel the immediacy of Kirill’s reaction digging into the front of his thigh. Kirill frees both hands to reach up and wind into Doug’s hair so he can hold the other’s gaze on him as he tilts his head back to look up and meet the steady dark of Doug’s attention on him. “I want that.”

“That?” Doug repeats back. His hand slides down Kirill’s ass, wandering over the other’s body like he’s appreciating the shape of it under his hold. “You want me to turn you over on my bed and strip you naked?”

Kirill catches his lip against the weight of his teeth as he ducks his head into a nod. “Yes.”

Doug hums consideration. “You want me to work my fingers in you until you’re begging for more?” Kirill’s face colors but he ducks his head into a nod in spite of the flush rising over his cheeks. Doug ducks in over him, his hair catching against Kirill’s as he breathes out against the curve of Kirill’s bare neck. “You want me to fuck you into the best orgasm of your life?”

“_Oh_,” Kirill groans. His legs tilt in to flex around Doug’s thigh pressing him down in a half-formed attempt to rock himself up for more pressure. “_Doug_.”

“Hmm,” Doug hums, and tightens his grip to squeeze once more against Kirill. “Alright.” He draws back from where he’s been threatening a kiss against Kirill’s neck to gaze steady attention down at the other. “If you’re sure.” Kirill blinks, and swallows, and nods, and Doug lifts his shoulder in a shrug.

“You asked for it,” he says, and rocks back and away so quickly that Kirill doesn’t have a chance to tighten his grip before Doug is pulling free of his hold on the other’s hair. Kirill frowns at the loss, but Doug is pulling his leg free from the press of Kirill’s around him too, and before Kirill can find words to fit to his open mouth Doug is pulling against him and he’s being turned over to sprawl face-down over the sheets of the bed. Kirill lands heavily, his face pressing to the soft of the pillow beneath him before he can collect himself enough to get his elbows under him and push himself up from the support, but Doug is already sliding back over the mattress, and when his hands land at Kirill’s body it is to slide his fingers in under the waistband of the briefs currently taut around the heat of Kirill’s erection.

Kirill’s hips tilt up in answer to the friction against his skin -- the motion is so instinctive he doesn’t have a chance to catch it back before he’s moving -- but Doug is acting without waiting for encouragement. His hands tug to urge Kirill’s clothes down and free of his hips as he strips the fabric away from the other’s body; when the elastic catches at the head of Kirill’s cock and tugs a whimper of heat free from his throat, it’s only a moment before Doug’s thumbs draw up to free him and go on pulling the clothing loose. Kirill is left lying over Doug’s bed, face-down against the soft of the sheets and with his whole body prickling with electric awareness of Doug’s gaze drawing over his bare skin. Kirill stays where he is for a moment, face down and heart racing, before he turns his head to sneak a glance at Doug behind him.

Except Doug isn’t behind him anymore. He’s moved away while Kirill was pressing his face down into the pillow, stepping around the edge of the bed as Kirill was trying to calm the speed of his pulse racing in his chest. By the time Kirill is looking back Doug is returning, his head ducked forward and attention turned to the bottle he’s turning up to pour liquid over the fingers of one hand. He’s not looking at Kirill at all, an oversight that tightens Kirill’s shoulders with self-conscious want, but before Kirill can speak Doug is righting the bottle, snapping the lid shut and casting it down onto the bed before drawing in to brace a knee against the mattress alongside Kirill’s leg. Kirill’s attention falls to the bottle, tracking the spill of the liquid inside and the label on the outside, and his protest to Doug’s inattention disintegrates with the rush of heat that surges through him in place of his brief sense of abandonment.

Doug’s hand is warm as it lands against Kirill’s hip. His thumb braces at the lowest point of Kirill’s back, his fingers curl to steady at the other’s hipbone, and when he pulls Kirill’s body curves up in immediate answer. Kirill tips forward over the brace of his elbows, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness at the arch of his spine and the upward angle he’s making of himself for Doug kneeling behind him, but then smooth-slick fingers press against his skin to stroke down over his ass, and any coherent protest Kirill might have made is forgotten in a voiceless exhale that empties his breath into wide-eyed anticipation.

Doug doesn’t keep him waiting. His touch is sure, steady with focus as he rubs lubrication over Kirill’s skin, and almost as soon as Kirill is catching his breath Doug is sliding his touch to thrust into him with one slick finger. Kirill opens his eyes wide, shocked into tension by the sudden pressure within him, by the delayed-reaction realization that Doug is  _ inside _ him, that it’s Doug’s touch that is working such pressure into his body. By the time he finds the breath and presence of mind to groan with the force of the sensation, Doug is already finding a rhythm to the stroke of his touch working Kirill open.

It’s pressure, friction sliding to demand Kirill’s attention to a part of his body he very rarely thinks of; he’s trying to relax into the slide of Doug’s finger stroking within him, but he keeps getting caught by the sensation and clenching tight without meaning to as Doug comes forward to sink the full length of his finger into him. Doug doesn’t seem concerned by this, at any rate; in fact after a few passes he draws the tip of another finger against Kirill’s entrance, as if offering a suggestion by touch instead of words. Kirill catches a breath, tightening in spite of his best intentions to the contrary; but there is nothing, no pressure beyond the single finger already stroking inside him. Kirill gusts an exhale, his body loosens its grip on reflex, and Doug shifts his touch to push into him. Kirill catches a breath and flexes taut again, but Doug’s second finger is already inside him, and when he pushes forward Kirill feels himself opening to the slick persuasion of the other’s touch, his body easing to Doug’s urging even as his cock throbs with the rising sensation coaxed into him by the work of Doug’s hand.

Doug breathes out hard enough that Kirill can hear it even with his head tipped down towards the support of his elbows at the bed. When he shifts his grip at Kirill’s hip his hold hitches the other back over his knees as if to urge Kirill to meet the forward press of the fingers stroking inside him. “You’re taking this well,” he says, sounding so nearly admiring that Kirill flushes with pleasure at the words. “You might have a natural talent for this, you know.”

“Oh,” Kirill gasps. Doug’s fingers seem to be reaching deeper inside him with each forward stroke; he’s feeling dizzy, almost lightheaded, as if his focus is coming undone along with the tension of his body. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Doug says. “Either that or you’re just  _ really _ desperate to have my dick in you.”

Kirill feels the color surge into his cheeks at the same time self-consciousness tightens his body around Doug’s fingers. “_Doug_.”

“Ah, yeah,” Doug sighs. “I guessed that was probably it.” He pulls at Kirill’s hip again; this time it’s enough to slide Kirill’s knees a little farther back against the bed. When Doug’s fingers push forward into him the rush of sensation flutters Kirill’s lashes and flexes his chest over a groan of heat. “It’s too bad it’s not more generally useful but I can’t say I’m not flattered.”

Kirill isn’t really paying attention to the meaning of Doug’s words. His attention is coming in waves, following the slick pull and sharp force of the fingers thrusting rhythmically into him. His body is flushing hot, his chest tightening and his breath panting as his cock twitches with arousal; Kirill feels like the sensation in him is pooling deep down within his belly, like he weighs twice what he usually does, until it’s a struggle just to stay balanced over his knees digging into the soft of Doug’s bedsheets. His breath is rasping in his throat, straining itself to embarrassingly desperate noises at the back of his tongue; Kirill turns his head down against the pillow underneath him to try to muffle them, but when Doug pushes forward he just jerks and groans loudly enough that it’s as clear as ever. His legs are shaking, struggling with the effort to hold himself up and the desire to tilt back to meet the motion of Doug’s touch surging into him, and Kirill is beginning to lose track of his thoughts, his attention is drifting so distant that he can’t even think clearly enough to recall why he’s hot with self-conscious embarrassment. He’s trembling with heat, his whole body tensing around a pressure that is only distantly related to the weight of his erection bobbing at his hips; he can feel sensation building in him, urging towards some peak he can’t explain but can feel growing at the base of his spine and over the tension at the tops of his thighs. He  _ is _ rocking back, bucking against the pressure of Doug’s fingers without any thought to embarrassment or to the picture he’s making of himself, without a thought to anything more than the friction stroking inside him and pushing him towards the cusp of something enormous; and then the hand at his hip slides back, a palm presses hard against his ass, and Kirill finds himself falling forward, his balance overset by Doug pushing at him until he topples to sprawl flat over the sheets again.

“Perfect,” Doug says from behind him, speaking before Kirill can find words to protest the loss of the rhythm stroking into him and the retreat of the edge that had seemed so close for a moment. “Stay just like that.” Kirill feels the bed shift under him, the mattress tilting as Doug slides back, and he turns his head against the pillow to look back over his shoulder as far as he can manage.

His hair is falling over his face, tangling at his eyelashes and sticking to his lips, but he can see enough to make out Doug standing at the foot of the bed. He’s wearing hardly anything that Kirill can see, just the dark of his underwear pulled up around his hips; and then he slips his thumbs into the waistband to push those down his thighs, and he’s not wearing anything at all. Kirill can see the length of his cock curving to a steep angle where it’s rising from the dark curls at his hips and over the weight of his balls, and Kirill’s own cock twitches appreciation against the sheets beneath him. Doug straightens as he steps free of his underwear, turning away from Kirill as he moves; Kirill draws a breath to complain, but Doug is just reaching for a box set alongside the bed and fishing a square packet from within.

He’s businesslike about tearing the wrapper open, and just as efficient in unrolling the condom to sheathe his cock. Kirill is glad for the position he’s in on the bed, if only for the friction the sheets provide when his hips rock forward in helpless pursuit of some sense of satisfaction for his cock, which is throbbing with heat the longer he stares at Doug’s. Doug reaches to clasp his hand around himself and coat himself with a layer of lubrication, and Kirill’s voice breaks on a whimper of aroused anticipation. Doug’s gaze flickers to him, the other’s attention finding Kirill’s half-shadowed gaze instantly, but he doesn’t comment on the focus of Kirill’s stare or the heat that Kirill is sure must be burning hot across his cheeks; he just tosses his head to shake his hair back from his face before stepping in towards the end of the bed. The mattress shifts with the weight of his knee against the end of it and there’s a touch at Kirill’s leg, a palm steadying against him as it slides up to casual intimacy against the inside of his thigh.

“Spread your legs apart.” Kirill does, his knees drawing wider against the sheets, and Doug’s hand lifts from his thigh to be replaced immediately by his other palm gripping at the top of Kirill’s hip. Doug’s hold presses down, the weight of his grip pinning Kirill flat against the sheets as a knee slides to brace against the inside of Kirill’s angled-open leg. Kirill’s breath catches on the clinging heat of anticipation but Doug is still moving, his other knee coming out to set at the back of Kirill’s thigh as he leans in over the hold he has at Kirill’s hip. There’s a shift of motion at the bed, the mattress adjusting as Doug’s weight tips over it, and then Kirill feels slick heat urging against the tension of his body. Kirill tightens reflexively, drawing tight in expectation of the intrusion, but even as he does Doug’s other hand is coming down to weight at the other side of his hips and fix Kirill in place against the bed before him. Doug’s hands press down, locking Kirill still atop the mattress where he’s been laid, and before Kirill can take a breath Doug is pushing against him. Kirill’s body flexes, his heart skips with adrenaline, but Doug’s fingers have done their job in working him open and he doesn’t really want to pull away any more than Doug’s grip will allow him to. Doug’s hips tilt forward, Kirill feels the pressure against him rise past the point of resistance, and as he shudders an exhale Doug’s cock slips past his entrance and forward to sink fully into the grip of his body.

Kirill doesn’t know if Doug groans at the first forward thrust into Kirill braced beneath him. If he does Kirill doesn’t hear it for the moan that breaks free of his own lips, rising up from his chest to spill breathless in his throat at the feel of Doug coming forward into him. Kirill’s legs tighten, his knees trying to draw together on reflex, but Doug’s knees are braced between his thighs and Doug’s hands are pinning his hips still to the bed and his instinctive trembling spends itself against the wall of the other’s restraint. Kirill is flat on Doug’s bed, his cock aching against the sheets tangled beneath him and his mouth open on the wanting heat in his throat, and when Doug’s fingers slide against him it’s only to hold his hips in a firmer grip. Doug rocks back, his cock retreating from the depth to which his first thrust carried him, and before Kirill can find words to protest this he’s bucking forward again and Kirill is caught in another spasm of sensation as Doug’s cock comes into him. He groans into the pillow, his shoulders flexing as his thighs quiver around Doug kneeling behind him, and while Kirill is still gasping with the first wave of sensation Doug moves again to speed him on to the next.

There is no time for Kirill to find his breath. Doug moves with certainty, his knees holding Kirill’s thighs open and his hands bracing Kirill’s hips in place for the forward surge of his own; Kirill can no more interrupt the rhythmic force of Doug’s motion than he has any thought in his head to do so. He tightens with each forward thrust, his body flexing with helpless instinct beneath Doug’s, but the jerk of his thighs and the heat in his throat have no effect whatsoever on the steady insistence of Doug’s cock pumping within him. Kirill very shortly loses the tension in his shoulders holding him up, and the intention he originally had towards coherent speech; his body is too hot, the sensations rippling through him too much to contain. He goes slack over the bed, surrendering to the assurance of Doug’s hold and Doug’s motion and Doug’s want, and in return he feels himself trembling with the intensity of a rising tide of sensation like he’s never felt before. His legs are shaking beyond his control to still them, his cock is pulling against the sheets under him with each forward stroke Doug takes; even his throat is beyond his awareness, as his breathing shapes itself into moans that go higher and hotter with every gasping inhale he manages. His eyes are open, his head is turned so he can see some portion of Doug’s bedroom rocking slightly with each action of Doug thrusting into him, but Kirill’s attention is utterly elsewhere, held between the brace of Doug’s palms and the open spread of his knees holding Kirill’s own legs wide. Heat is surging through him with every forward motion Doug takes, rising up his spine and tightening in his throat and throbbing in his cock still pinned to the sheets beneath him, and with Doug’s hands holding him down all Kirill can do is gasp and shake and feel the sensation building higher and hotter with every breath he manages.

Doug’s hips snap forward, his cock works deep, and Kirill moans into the sheets, his voice breaking over a shout as he shudders over the bed. His fingers reach for traction against the sheets, closing into fists against the silky fabric, but his arms are trembling too badly to give him any kind of support, and he can’t figure out what he wants to do anyway. He feels like he’s melting, like his rationality is disintegrating with every motion Doug takes, like he needs to flinch away and find his breath and struggle himself back into coherency; but the heat is everywhere, prickling against his spine and blurring his thoughts and thrumming heartbeat-hard in the strain of his cock pressing to the bed. It’s too much, too much sensation and too much heat and too much friction, and Kirill is sure he can’t stand it and is desperate to push himself over the breaking point. He clutches at the sheets, whimpers for breath, flexes his leg and braces himself at the bed; and Doug keeps moving, steady and unhesitating in his efforts even as Kirill’s strength begins to give way and dissolve into trembling anticipation. His knees slide at the sheets, his fingers loosen their hold, his breathing draws deep in his chest, and as Kirill eases over the bed Doug’s grip tightens against him, shifting Kirill’s hips back fractionally as his knee slides higher on the bed so he can lean in closer.

Doug comes forward, deeper and hotter than he was before, and Kirill shudders through the whole of his body like the friction is pressing to every part of him. His toes curl, his shoulders strain, and the next thrust comes with a tide of heat that blurs his vision and throbs at his cock. His legs are shaking, his breathing is catching, his lips are parting on voiceless sensation, and when Doug next thrusts into him Kirill jerks and comes, pleasure breaking over him to pulse over Doug’s sheets and pull ragged in his throat. Kirill’s shouting, he thinks, his throat scraping raw over the familiar weight of Doug’s name while his ears ring with the force of his orgasm, and while he’s trembling and coming over the bed Doug’s hands fix him still against the steady flex of the other’s body stroking into his own. Kirill quivers through the waves of his release, tightening and softening in pulses of heat that whimper in his throat with each jolt, and over him Doug huffs a breath and tips in to press harder at his hands.

Kirill feels himself crushed to the bed, his cock still throbbing sensation as it presses into the wet of his come, and when Doug’s movement speeds Kirill groans and arches to meet him. There’s greater force, now, a determination verging on desperation as Doug fucks him, and Kirill feels dreamy and pliant and welcoming, like he can take anything Doug wants to give him. He can feel the pressure along his spine, quivering in his thighs, tight at his balls, and Kirill lets himself give way to it as Doug leans into him. He could stay like this forever, he thinks, spent and radiant and still under the force of Doug’s hold and the rhythmic thrust of his hips; and it’s just as he thinks that that Doug drags an inhale, and stutters his movement to a halt with a groan of pleasure. His hands tighten, clenching against Kirill’s hips as he comes; and then they loosen, easing back from the demand of arousal as Doug sighs into satisfaction.

Kirill wants Doug to stay. There’s a strange kind of comfort to it, to having Doug’s hands against him and Doug’s cock hot inside him; but Doug only lingers a moment after his orgasm before his grip tightens again and he rocks himself back to slide free of Kirill’s body. Kirill whimpers at the motion, not sure if it’s more relief or loss he’s feeling, and behind him Doug’s hold loosens so he can slide his palm up against the curve of Kirill’s ass instead.

“Well,” he says. “How did I compare to your fantasies?” Kirill groans against the pillow underneath him. Doug huffs a breath that might be a laugh, although Kirill can’t see his face to judge it. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” He tightens his fingers to offer a squeeze of pressure before the bed shifts with the motion of him sliding away and getting to his feet.

Kirill stays where he is for another minute, feeling his body tingling with heat and thinking about the effort required to move before he actually goes to the trouble of setting a hand against the mattress so he can push himself over. Doug is standing at the corner of the room, his head ducked as he slides the condom off; Kirill’s attention slides down his body, lingering in appreciation for how much of it there is to see as he takes a breath to speak himself. “How about me?” Doug tips his head to glance at Kirill and Kirill lowers his lashes and curves his lips around the most seductive smile he can manage. “Compared to your fantasies?”

Doug only looks at Kirill for a moment before turning back to knot off the condom and throw it away. “Who said I fantasized about you?”

Kirill recoils at this. “You did!”

“Oh?” Doug turns back to give Kirill the full force of his steady gaze. “When was that?”

“This morning,” Kirill says. “Or...yesterday, sometime.” He frowns and shakes his head. “I’m  _ sure _ you did.”

“Uh huh,” Doug says. He comes forward to set a knee at the edge of the mattress and lean towards where Kirill is turned onto his side. “Sure you are.”

“You  _ did_,” Kirill protests. Doug casts himself to fall heavily across the bed alongside him and Kirill frowns down at him. “Are you teasing me?”

“Me?” Doug says. “Never.” He reaches out to weight a hand atop Kirill’s hip. “I’ll let you know when I’m teasing you.”

Kirill frowns. “Will you?”

“Sure.” Doug slides his hand up Kirill’s side and back to brace at the curve of his spine. “Come here, partner.”

Kirill can’t resist that. He leans forward at once, not even bothering to avoid the damp spot his orgasm left on the bed between them. It doesn’t seem to matter very much when Doug is pulling Kirill’s leg up around him, or when Doug’s hand is sliding into his hair to urge Kirill down against him. Kirill comes in, happy to follow the persuasion of Doug’s hold until his knees are on either side of the other’s hips and he’s more on top of Doug than he is over the mattress. Doug doesn’t seem to mind; he just winds a hand farther into Kirill’s hair, and urges his tongue farther into Kirill’s mouth, and tightens his hold at the top of Kirill’s thigh to hold the other steady.

Kirill is only intending to kiss. He’s heavy and loose-limbed with satisfaction; with the way he feels, it’s hard to imagine wanting another orgasm in anything like the next week. But Doug’s tongue is insistent against his, and the hand working gently up his thigh is wandering into far more intimacy than Kirill had expected, and some time after being pulled into position Kirill realizes that he can feel Doug’s cock starting to swell beneath him again. The awareness is enough to pull him back from the other’s mouth, just so he can look down and see what his body was already feeling: Doug still soft but noticeably thicker than he was, as arousal begins to reassert itself.

“Surprised?” Kirill looks back up to see Doug gazing up at him, his lashes heavy over his eyes and his mouth soft with the friction of their kissing. “I’ve got a pretty partner grinding his dick against me, what did you expect?”

“I’m not!” Kirill protests.

Doug raises an eyebrow. “No?” His hand slides around Kirill’s hip; when his fingers curl to squeeze against the other’s cock Kirill gasps, startled by the rush of sensation that proves that as much as Doug is approaching arousal he is already very much there. “Want to test?” He slides his hand up over Kirill’s length; Kirill shudders, his knees tightening around Doug’s hips involuntarily as his back arches with the flush of heat through him. “Maybe you should have another go while I’m still getting it up. You know how it is once you become an old man.”

“Ah,” Kirill whimpers, and clutches against Doug’s wrist. “You’re not  _ old_.”

“Mm,” Doug says. “_Now _ I’m teasing you.” He rocks his hips up; his cock slides smoothly against Kirill’s thigh, hard enough that Kirill doesn’t look down to check. “You’re not having another orgasm without me.” Kirill shivers and Doug lets him go to smack against his hip. “Grab another condom, partner.”

Kirill leans sideways to obey at once. It’s a stretch to reach the table at the side of the bed without moving from his position straddling Doug’s hips; he only manages it with Doug’s help, which comes in the form of two hands closing steady against Kirill’s hips to hold him still. With that support to count on Kirill can angle himself entirely to the side as he reaches out towards the bedside table to retrieve the box left open after their first interlude. Kirill fishes one of the packets inside free to offer to Doug as he returns to his position sitting over the other, but Doug doesn’t move to take it from him.

“Good work,” he says instead, in the perfect deadpan that is always so hard for Kirill to read. “Now let’s teach you how to put a condom on.” Doug shifts his hips, angling up beneath Kirill’s weight with pointed intent. Kirill only hesitates for a moment before he lifts the packet to tear the foil open so he can follow Doug’s instructions.

Doug gives very clear guidance, as it turns out. Kirill suspects him of more unacknowledged teasing, by the time he’s stroking over Doug’s cock for the third time since rolling the latex down, but he finds he’s a lot less concerned about the possibility as soon as Doug is guiding his hips back to settle Kirill over him again. Kirill has bigger things to think about, after that, and when Doug reaches up to urge Kirill down into a kiss Kirill is very happy to let the experience of his partner thoroughly distract him.


End file.
